There are some here who have wandered an ocean or two. Thus yarns have been spun.
The tail of the misguided chef:
*A man went skydiving for the first time. After listening to the instructor for what seemed like days, he was ready to go. Excited, he jumped out of the airplane. About five seconds later, he pulled the ripcord. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. He started to panic, but remembered his back- up chute. He pulled that cord. Nothing happened. He frantically began yanking both cords to no avail.
Suddenly he looked down, and he couldn’t believe his eyes. Another man was in the air with him, but this guy was going up! Just as the other guy passed by, the skydiver yelled, “Hey, do you know anything about skydiving?”
The other guy yelled back, “No! Do you know anything about alcohol stoves?”*
So then, enough of that, how about tales of surface mounted flexible solar panels, or self-steering vanes, or failed interfaces betwixt GPS’s, flux gate compasses, and hydraulic rudder linkages.
Then there are those occasionally temperamental rigging mounted wind generators with the optional auxiliary, sheathed, cable driven towed prop.
Let us not forget the infrequent dipped mast, or the “turtle” manuever that can cause the “juevos” to retract to a place not visited since early childhood.
Positive flotation and a manufacturors claim of self-righting can seem daunting when a “hurricane hole” cannot be reached in time.
The South Pacific holds charms based on books, legends, and many skipper’s logs. The Atlantic has challenged many a self-annointed supposedly seasoned skipper. Pirates in the South China Seas have surprised and overcome the inexperienced. Simple navigation through convoluted reefs has left some with deeper drafted vessels and non keel-attached rudders flinching at the thought of a non-confrontational blemish on their oh so bearded hull.
There are sailors here. Whether it be the weekend warrioring multi-hulled speed demon, or the club sailing harbor craftsman, or the blue water cruiser.
Care to spin a yarn? I’ll go first.
36 foot double ender. Traveling west, approaching the Samoas. Hurricane season. A weather fax operating well enough to warn me that I had better make a 90 degree turn to avoid the beast’s path. My speed, 12 knots. The beasts’, an increasing 80. Batten the hatches, take a double reef on the main, furl the genny.
40 foot seas. Gusts to 120 knots. Three rolls. Mast buried for the next 400 miles (per later GPS fixes).
And you know what, after taking care of the essentials, I spent more physical effort at trying to open the entrance to my “palace” in order to secure beers, over the next 48 hours, then I did at worrying about the outcome.
This is not a challenge to relate your most harrowing experience (inspite of the preceding).
Sabots, and Lido 14’s, and 16/18 foot cats, and all the rest tales belong here as well.
Spin…